"It was no problem at all, Mrs. Figg. I'm glad we could help," I say taking the bowl of remaining sweets from my slipper-clad neighbour.
"They surprise me every year, dear. I'm brushing Mr. Tibbles, and suddenly there they are on my doorstep—dressed like witches and demanding sweets." She's still muttering as she walks down the flower lined path and out the wooden gate—two pompous cats trailing behind her, bushy tails held high.
I shut the heavy old door with a laugh as I dump the sweets into the gaudy cookie jar by the door, a birthday gift from Petunia. As always, James bought three times more sweets than we'd actually need, but I don't begrudge him the indulgence this year. We've not had real visitors in over a month, and I'm glad that the Fidelius Charm at least doesn't keep muggles from finding the house. A steady stream of kids dressed as fairies and superheroes has lightened the depressing mood in this house and I'm glad of it.
I remember our first Halloween in this cottage. James thought it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen—little muggles dressed as "witches" and "ghosts". He actually gave a trick wand to a little boy dressed as a lion. I hope he didn't get up to too much mischief with it.
I hear a whispered, "Scourgify" as I walk back into the living room and see James on his knees before our cushy, old sofa, bravely changing a nappy.
"James Potter! I thought I told you not to use scourgify on Harry. His skin is far too sensitive and he'll get a rash. Use tergeo."
James' handsome faces changes from surprise, to guilt, to whinging in three seconds flat as he secures Harry's new nappy and hoists him into the air. Harry's little bumblebee costume lies forgotten on the floor.
"But Lils, he still stinks if you just use tergeo," he says with an upturned nose. I bite my lip to keep from smiling as Harry giggles from being tossed into the air.
"That's why we have the baby wipes, James—see," I point to the container tucked into the front of the baby bag, and recite mockingly, "'now with a fresh powder scent'."
James ignores my nagging as he sets him back down and grabs Harry's toy snitch. It was a birthday gift for Harry, from his rogue of a godfather, but I think James likes it just as much as he does.
Harry squeals and toddles after the slowly fluttering toy with James hot on his heals down our picture lined hall.
I call after him, "Did you remember to ask Peter about Remus' last transformation? I'm worried about him, James, he wasn't acting like himself the last him we saw him. Sirius noticed it too." But, I hear them both laughing from the kitchen, and know he didn't even hear my question.
I begin to pick up the toys and clothes that always manage to get scattered from the hearth to the wide, curtained windows whenever Harry's awake. I stoke the fire with a quick spell and cram one last toy into the chest under the window seat, slamming the lid to silence the last strains of 'Ring around the Rosie' coming from a silly, dancing clown.
"LILY!" James bellows. "Come quick, now!" My heart skips a beat as I race into the kitchen.
"What's wrong? Is Harry al…" I halt, breathlessly in the doorway as James turns to me with a huge grin on his face. Harry is standing on our green, laminate kitchen tables with his daddy's hands clutched around his middle.
"Say it again for mummy, Buck. Come on," he prompts. "What's this?" James taps the little toy now clutched firmly in Harry's pudgy hand.
"Sneetchh!" Harry garbles, with an intent look on his face.
James looks as though Christmas has come early, his hazel eyes glistening as they fly to me and back to Harry.
"Sn-i-t-ch," James enunciates, as Harry stares raptly at James' mouth.
"Snytchh," he repeats. James whoops, tossing him into the air again.
"Our little, star seeker, Lils, HA! Wait till I tell Sirius."
I lean against the kitchen door as I watch my boys, thanking God for even a chance at this life—mad dark lord or not.
James looks over at me and his smile softens. How does he always know what I'm thinking? He moves toward me, handing Harry into my arms as he wraps his own arms around both of us. I sigh deeply and he presses a kiss to my cheek, gazing into my eyes.
"We just have to trust Dumbledore, Lil. I dunno what's going to happen, but we're on the right side. You made the right decision," he whispers.
"I know James. There wasn't any other choice to make, but sometimes… I think maybe…"
James kisses the furrow of my brow, "Snape made his own decision, love. We can hope, and pray, and wish we'd done things differently, but we can only be responsible for ourselves." I think I see a flash of regret pass over his face, but it's gone before I can be sure.
He looks down at Harry's bright eyes, his own eyes alight with tenacious hope, and plants a soft kiss on Harry's forehead as well. "If Dumbledore's right," he says lightly, "then the future is going to very interesting." I can tell that Harry's tired since he's not even squirming to be put down.
I smile sadly. "Well, it's way past this little sprites bedtime," I say, heading up the stairs. "What are we ever going to do with all those extra sweets?" I ask sarcastically over my shoulder.
"I'm sure Peter will be happy to help us finish them off," James laughs, strolling back toward the warm living room.
Harry cuddles into my chest as I walk into his room. I manage to get him into his Gryffindor red sleeper and put him down in his cot.
"Oops! Almost forgot Paddy didn't we?" I say, snatching the shaggy black stuffed dog from the corner rocking chair. Harry rubs his face in the soft fur and yawns. Another gag gift from Sirius, but Harry can't sleep without it.
"Mummy loves Harry!" I whisper, nuzzling his cheek.
"Mummy," he responds, with bright sleepy eyes. I kiss his forehead and flick off the light, setting the baby monitoring charm as I pull the door shut quietly.
As I head downstairs, I hear a sudden bang from the front of the house. I rush down to see if something has fallen, but as I turn the corner on the stair landing a wave of icy terror streaks down my spine. The antique oak door has been blown off its hinges and James is standing stiffly in the entrance way, wand raised toward the darkness without.
He glances up at me quickly, shouting, "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off …" I race back up the stairs, slipping on the carpet and banging my knee hard. The pain is nothing to the slicing in my heart as I realize we've been betrayed.
I hear a cold, "Expelliarmus," and try not to let out a sob as I feel my wand wrenched from my hand—that means James is defenseless also. Scrambling to the top of the stairway, I hear that bitterly stoic voice pronounce, "Avada Kedavra." I hear a soft thump. I am so frantic I can hardly see straight.
After what seems an eternity, I make it to the door of Harry's room, but I can hear heavy steps behind me. I fling the door open and rush to Harry's cot, but am stopped in my tracks by that maniacal laughter. I turn to Voldemort, this man who is no longer a man, and I do the only thing left to me. I beg.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" I plead, hoping beyond hope to touch the small piece of humanity that must be left within him.
"Stand aside you silly girl … stand aside now," he growls.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead… Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy…" I clutch the edge of Harry's cot behind me, willing strength into my now sobbing boy.
Then, in a flash the world turns green, breath clenches in my chest, and all is black.